Missing
I dreamt of you last night. Woke me up from my sleep.
I'm missing. That's all I find myself able to say. It's been so long that I'm not sure what it is that I miss anymore.
I miss the way you looked at me.
I miss seeing you smile.
I miss hearing your voice.
I miss the sense of your skin on mine.
I miss moving the couch closer to the TV.
I miss that you always wanted to fall asleep before I did.
I miss being a safe place for you.
I'm not sure if it's you that I miss or my feelings for you. Either way, missing you has been pointless for a long time now. Most days I can't even remember your face. Even now, at the height of my nostalgia, I cannot remember what your voice sounded like.
I miss the recent things as well.
I miss the fact that you fell asleep on the couch while I wrote.
I miss the dim mood of your home.
The cold of the back balcony, pure dark of the hallway.
I miss the days we had.
Missing something that's gone feels pointless. Even if it was recent. Yet I still do. I'm glad that I managed to live through this life, having things to miss.
The reflection in the mirror tires me these days. There is a sense of life that gathers in my thoughts then it gets wrapped by all the mistakes. I find myself staring into the mirror, hopelessly watching it corrupt. Some days it wins, some days it can't even fight back. Anything that really means something to me tends to end up being a battle that keeps being fought, long after everyone is dead.
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